


Stop Lying, Take Responsibility and Fall Madly in Love With Me

by Ballerinaxox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Crying, Cussing, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Happy Ending, Hate Sex, I shat all over Ignatz, Knifeplay, Masochism, Outdoor Sex, Please Forgive me, Post-Time Skip, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Sylvain/Hilda Support Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 04:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballerinaxox/pseuds/Ballerinaxox
Summary: Sylvain reunites with Hilda during the War at Gronder Field and cashes in on a promise made long ago.





	Stop Lying, Take Responsibility and Fall Madly in Love With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings in the tags! This got more violent and dark than I intended and it's okay to not read. Just click the back button! Without spoiling too much, I'll say I see this happening in the Church route where Byleth doesn’t recruit either of them. Also when I did my first play through, I literally cried when I found out I couldn’t marry these two jerks together.

Gronder was a clusterfuck. A giant, brutal, disgusting, clusterfuck. The blood from soldiers, regardless of uniform, paint the sky and grass red. Like the world's most grotesque fountain. Battles before this were neat by comparison. King vs. Emperor. Cut and dry. Clean. There's a reason why two is company and three is a crowd. _ What about four? I could probably handle three girls, but four?_ The idle thoughts continue to distract Sylvain from the nightmare he fights. A dangerous coping mechanism when he's pulling the Lance of Ruin out of an Imperial soldier's chest.

"Sorry, buddy. Gonna need that."

Sanity: a rare luxury these days. Humanity would kill, rape, and steal just for a small taste of sanity. And Sylvain has tried all three in the past five years. Ingrid preaches to herself and others to feel this sanity. Felix trains. He desensitized himself long ago when Glenn died. And Dimitri? … A work in progress. Sylvain almost feels that elusive apathy, listening to the gurgling sounds coming from the impaled soldier. 

_ Goddess, when was the last time I had a girl make those noises with her lips pressed up against my… Ugh. Focus, Sylvain. Kill or be killed. _

His horse grunts, snapping him out of his daydreaming. Foolish ramblings. Now's not the time to get distracted. That time was stolen from them in hours, days, and years. Days of frivolous love, of academic study, of mourning the dead. All of it burned away and left behind an insatiable desire and hatred for women. Inexplicably, they still line up, open hearts and legs for the nobleman with a crest. Sylvain shakes his head.

_ It doesn't matter, Sylvain. C'mon. Kill or be killed. _

These reveries currently pacify the monster in Sylvain though they will likewise get him killed someday. _Hopefully today_, Sylvain muses as he abandons the rest of the Kingdom troops to charge headfirst into the fray of bickering Imperial and Alliance soldiers. He's honed in on the one female soldier in his view and summons a fire spell beneath her feet. She screams, the sound grating to Sylvain's ears as the column of fire consumes her. The win is short-lived. He's exposed. He waits for any of the soldiers to end him while he's winded from his assault and meandering impure thoughts. The scene continues around him. The Empire is driven back. The Alliance pursues. And he's left behind. _Alone_. He exhales the breath he's holding, grateful for his life while cursing the pain of existence. A lost soul. He prayed that it would all end. 

It almost does when an arrow whizzes, nicking the dark metal on his shoulder.

Sylvain turns around to see a small man in a green cape, and he can't help but think to himself that the man looks like a fucking cosplay of Robin Hood gone wrong. 

"Sylvain!" The rough voice of Sylvain's best friend snaps him from his stupor. "Finish the peasant, then come join us! I'm taking the soldiers with me to cover the boar's hairy ass." He charges onward, leaving Sylvain to turn all of his attention to Robin Hood.

Wicked grin pulling at his lips, head tilted slightly in contemplation, Sylvain finally speaks. "You look familiar, friend. What is your name again? Israel? Iggy? Ignoramus?"

The small man glares back at him, but Sylvain holds back laughter at the sight of his skirt-pants shaking violently. 

His voice shakes as much as his pants. "On behalf of the Alliance, I will strike you down, fiend or my name isn't Ignatz!"

"OH, right. Ignatz." The Lance of Ruin comes out, excited like its master. "That's right, I remember! The little boy who could not stop talking about fucking the goddess. You took religion to a whole new level, dude. I'd ask what the sex was like, but I'm not too interested in hearing the love story of Ignuts and his right hand."

Ignatz's eyes narrow, and his hands shake with anger or fear. _It doesn't matter,_ Sylvain decides. Because emotion, not judgment, fires the arrow. _Miss_. Sylvain uses the opening to stab the Lance of Ruin towards Ignatz's chest. The poor archer tries to dodge, but he's not fast enough. A high pitched screech meets Sylvain's already irritated ears as the lance tears straight into his shoulder. 

As a child, this disgusted Sylvain. As a teenager, saddened him. Now, Sylvain's heart beats faster, amber eyes sparkle with glee, and his grin turns feral. "You got sloppy, Ignuts. Are you ready to die?"

He poises the Lance of Ruin, ready to spear Ignatz right in between the lens of his glasses. The tendrils of the lance shake with the same pleasure and blood lust of its master. But the tip of the spear never reaches its mark. A flurry of pink flashes before Sylvain's eyes and an unexpected force knocks Sylvain back, almost making him drop his lance.

Sylvain grabs the reins of his steed, stumbling backward. When he recovers, his blood runs hot and cold, filled with both horror and arousal at the sight that lays before him.

Pink glossy hair, once tied with girlish ribbons in pigtails, cascades down a petite figure. Baby fat has melted off of a face he's grown to both hate and lust after. She wields a comically large hero's relic that she looks to have difficulty carrying. Although she strikes a battle pose looking like a fierce warrior princess, Sylvain can practically smell the putrid stench of fear from where he stands. _Delicious_. A storm thunders in her rose, doe eyes. They sparkle with recognition, seeing him for what he is, was, and always will be. A good for nothing. Scum. A killing machine. Heart breaker. 

Sylvain was proud to say that he has either slept with, dumped (or both) every girl that he seriously pursued except for one girl. That girl stands in front of him. Her constant rejection made her more desirable. After five years, Sylvain won't let this opportunity go. It's time to silence the pretty distraction once and for all. 

They're in a stare down that is only broken when she briskly commands her little archer friend to flee. Which he does and scurries away with his tail between his legs. 

Tension broken, The corners of Sylvain's lips pull up into a flirtatious smirk as he jumps off of his armored horse to level with her. "Well, well, well… If it isn't Hilda. Sweet little Hilda."

"You're looking handsome as ever." Her voice is sweet like honey, sounding even sexier if that's even possible. Sylvain can't help but dream about that pretty voice screaming. "What a generous blessing the goddess has bestowed upon me to bask in the light of your beauty once again, dearest Sylvain."

Before Sylvain could register her sugary words, let alone think of a witty response, he's in a backbend watching the light of Freikugel slice the air above his face, nearly decapitating him. The tip of his nose does not go unscathed.

Sylvain cackles greedily. He's fallen in love with many girls before, but no girl may ever live up to this vixen. "Oh, Hilda. If you wanted to play rough, all you needed to do was ask." 

Sylvain slashes his lance towards her, but she jumps back only to charge at him again. He's ready this time, and the weapons clash with each other. Red and black electricity sparking between the relics. 

"My apologies, Sylvain. You know it's not my style to be so direct with favors." She giggles, a blush as pink as her hair faintly dusts her cheeks. "Let me try again." Feminine voice dropping to a provocative whisper, "Please, Sylvain, I need a firm hand."

And with that, the maniacal dance continues. A sick twitch from the Lance of Ruin. The hallowed glow from Freikugel. The clanging between their relics ring louder as their waltz grows more violent. A slice on Hilda's arm, a bruise on Sylvain's leg, his metal armor dented by the massive blow. Both are playing dirty, with most attacks being aimed at their heads and throats. Again, Sylvain caves into his dangerous fantasies, admiring the way Hilda seems to bend physics. Such a small body shouldn't even be able to handle such a large weapon. She uses the momentum flawlessly so that the axe is always balanced between her two fragile little hands.

_That's it…_ Sylvain licks his lips.

As Hilda swings Freikugel, no doubt, attempting to sever Sylvain in two, he's able to dodge and maneuver behind her, his body encasing her like a dance partner. Unlike the women he treated so gently at the last grand ball, at least until later that night, right? He grabs Hilda's hands on her axe and continues her swing past the range of her shoulder. Hilda screams out in pain, a siren's song as far as Sylvain's concerned. She elbows him with her healthy arm while he's entranced, giving her the much-needed space to compose herself.

She attempts to lift her arm but winces. It hangs loosely, shoulder sunken into a strange angle. 

"Well played, old friend. I yield." Again, she acts so fast, Sylvain doesn't even register the surrender before she quickly drags the metal weapon around the black rocks by Sylvain's feet. The rocks let out furious sparks, and the dry grass immediately catches fire. Distracted, Sylvain jumps out of the way, calling for his horse. Once he's gained his composure, he turns to see her running away faster than any prey he's hunted, Freikugel precariously perched on her right shoulder. 

Common sense would dictate that Sylvain joins the rest of his army to continue the assault at Gronder, but he, as he usually does, finds himself thinking with his other head and chases after her. 

************

Hilda ran for what felt like forever but dare not look back. Claude's orders on repeat in her head, the fear of disappointing him, spurred her onwards. 1) Do not die, and 2) Flee if the situation goes south. The situation has definitely gone south. She heaves. Her dislocated shoulder hurt so much, she might puke. She stops to catch her breath, far from Gronder. Turning her attention to the horrible pain in her shoulder, she nearly bursts into tears.

_Makeup_. Hilda chastises herself. She sniffles, now processing the blood and gore from the battle. How many of her former classmates died? How many did she kill? Hilda was never very religious, but now, she prays daily. _It was them or me. I am so sorry…_

She lived her entire life thus far, wielding an axe per Goneril tradition and never suffered an injury quite like this. She berates herself for her constant doodling in class. She's positive that Manuela covered this in lecture. Now, her laziness will be the reason why she dies instead of Ignatz. _Unacceptable._

Suddenly, a cold metal gauntlet felt through the light cloth of her choker, wraps around her. She's slammed gracelessly back against a hard, armored chest. The pain is unbearable.

"Drop the axe, or I'll snap your neck." a husky voice whispers in her ear.

Absolute terror crushes her. Why would he abandon his commander, the king, just to chase one enemy soldier? She opens her grip, and Freikugel falls to the grass. 

"Sylvain?! You followed me? Why? No. Please don't. Whatever you're doing, just don't…" She babbled. Even with the lingering threat, the majority of her attention centers on the stabbing pain in her shoulder. Her fingers raise to grace his hand, pressing uncomfortably into her trachea. 

Sylvain gives a debased laugh, drinking up her fear. "Don't sound so scared, Hilda. I'm actually thrilled we got to see each other again. You know, I never wanted to hurt you."

To prove his trademark dishonesty, he touches her arm, sending waves of excruciating pain through her shoulder. She struggles, but his fingers around her throat tightens, causing her to whimper and still. She tries speaking again, voice tapering out. "Sylvain, sweetheart. You know that I share the same sentiment. Please. I don't want us to kill each other today." Her head swims, and her hold on his arm loosens, close to fainting from the pain.

"Shh, princess. Don't think about that just yet." Sylvain murmurs. "This is gonna hurt, okay? Don't move." With no other choice but to acquiesce to the ominous request, Hilda's eyes fluttered closed, dark magenta lashes quivering. As promised, agonizing pain shoots through her shoulder. Bile collects in her mouth as it intensifies before it's followed by a pop and then utter relief.

"Good girl. That wasn't so hard, was it? Drink."

He steps in front of her, a familiar bottle in hand which she gratefully accepts. The sweet and bitter liquid pours down, and she feels the pain draining out of her arm as if the liquid were washing the ache away itself. Relief flushes through her. The mind cracking, horrible pain almost wholly turned into a slight stiffness. 

He then presented her with an ornate belt. Again, another item Hilda distinctly recognizes. Nostalgia washes over her. It was a gift she had given him on his 19th birthday. Before Edelgard started the war. Made by a talented Alliance artisan. For Sylvain. His eyes lit up in the most childlike manner, and he took her out for dinner that night. She chokes back her tears. That boy is long gone. Even though he seems to be helping her, he has not let go of her wrist the entire time. _He doesn't trust me_, she muses. He gingerly wraps the belt around her arm to make a makeshift sling when she nervously tugs her hand back against his grip. 

"I'm okay. Really. That belt was expensive." She attempts to pull her wrist harder. He doesn't let go. "Thank you, Sylvain. Your kindness truly knows no bounds. I promise to repay you someday." Despite her efforts, she can't seem to get Sylvain to release her. "But you have to let me go for that to happen."

Sylvain pauses, pensive, his face giving away nothing. "It's a little late for that, don't you think? Everyone heard my orders on the battlefield. The King of Faerghus demands that I kill every last one of you." He finally releases her and steps away, circling her like a lion who caught dinner. Or an agent of death with armor like the night. He's grown more roguishly handsome since Hilda last saw him.

"Why would you waste your vulnerary on me if you planned to kill me?" She fights every urge to run. Heels firmly rooted to the ground. Running would just excite him, and she doubts he'll be so kind the next time he catches her.

"Oh, Hilda, what's the point in rushing all the fun?" She stifles back a gasp as he stands behind her, gauntleted fingers running through her hair. She always knew he was a bit of a sadist.

"Do you remember what you promised me five years ago?" He purrs, hot breath puffing against her cheek.

That comment knocks her in a trance. Thinking of the academy days brings too much pain and deadly hesitation when killing former friends. The memory cuts her, their flirting exchanges clear as if it were yesterday. "Stop lying, take responsibility, and fall madly in love with you." She recalled.

"Don't you think it's time you took some responsibility for your actions?"

Her face blanches, knees nearly failing and buckling beneath her, eyes staring straight ahead, yet looking at nothing. "I meant it, you know. I do love you. I did back then, and I always will."

She feels his smile finally fading against her cheek. "Still a horrible liar, I see. Tell you what. I'm not a complete asshole. Let's make a deal." His hand rests on her recovering shoulder, rubbing out the sore tissue. "My orders are to kill you. And as erotic as it is watching the light drain out of someone's eyes, and Hilda. You know you would be the most beautiful one yet."

_He's bluffing_... She wishes she could believe that.

"I'll consider sparing your life in exchange for a... _More suitable_ type of payment." His steel-plated fingertips trace a line down the thin strap of her dress, passing over her breast. Fingers lightly pulling at the laces of her corset as if he were trying to cut them.

_No…_ She silently begs. The implication well understood. She recoils from his touch. "Sylvain! You wouldn't ask me to put myself in a position that would compromise my honor."

"Of course not, princess. I'm just giving you an option." He whispers, kissing her ear. "I think you'd go down in history books. Hilda, warrior princess, gives her life in the Battle of Gronder to save Robin Hood."

She panics, mind racing, brain jumping between various escape plans, and Claude's disappointed face. "Wait, please don't kill me, Sylvain. I would happily accept your invitation but I can't right now. I'm… I'm on my period!"

At that, Sylvain bursts into laughter. "You don't really think after all we've been through, a little blood is going to stop me, do you?" He plants small kisses up the back of her shoulder. Teeth pulling at her choker.

"Please, Sylvain, let's talk this out. This isn't you. You don't want this."

He laughs again, mirthlessly this time. He can't tell if Hilda is just begging for freedom or if she never actually knew the real him.

"Actually, Hilda, I do want this. You must know I've wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on you."

"You're going to kill me anyway once you've had your fun." She points out.

"I promise Hilda, if that's the option you choose, barring the case where I have to defend myself, I won't kill you." And I'll make sure you have fun too." His hands wrap around her torso, caressing her perky breasts, small in his hands but large on her petite frame. She bites her lip, stifling back a moan. He will NOT know what he does to her.

"You have my word as a Faerghus knight." His kisses trail from her cheek to her ear, and his words come out as a whisper. Her knees finally buckle, and she collapses against his solid chest. 

"Don't be scared, princess. I'll take good care of you. You won't feel a thing. Unless you want to, of course. You tell me how you want it, and I'll make it happen just for you."

Hilda's breathing shallows. She can't tell if he's talking about killing her or fucking her. Both? Her eyes dart everywhere like a cornered deer looking for any type of salvation. Running is out of the question. _She ran too far from Gronder. The only patrolling soldiers in this area would be Imperial._ She briefly danced around the possibility that Claude might save her. 

"Are you thinking of running? I'm surprised you got so far with your arm severed from its socket. Go ahead. Run. See what happens." He nudges her back to her feet and backs away slightly as if he's giving her the option. Turning around, she sees the hunch in his posture and the predatory glint in his eyes that betray the fact that he'd chase her down, punish her and enjoy every second of it.

Hilda slowly backs away from the sight, a stupid mistake, unaware of her actions until she trips over a large tree root. She stumbles. Her back would have slammed against the broad tree trunk had Sylvain's strong hands not caught her waist and tenderly pressed her back against the tree. Those same gentle hands now trap her, his large body blocking any view of the wilderness.

Sylvain sighs and cracks his neck before reaching back to grab his lance. Disappointed that she didn't run. "You know, you're right. This is getting kind of boring."

And with the breakneck speed she seemed to learn in their 5 years away from each other, she lunges forward, arms wrapped around him, her lips crashing against his. 

She kisses him desperately. The smell of his musk enveloping her as she continues her assault. Sucking. Small licks occasionally brush his tongue. She kisses for her life, draining all of her fear into him. Unromantic. Painful. Her teeth accidentally nip at him. She pours her life into the kiss. Or she's fighting for it. Either way, before she can come up for some desperately needed air, her back is pressed against the tree trunk again, and his hand is wrapped around her throat. 

She can no longer hold her tears back. They stream down her face, ruining her makeup. "Sylvain, don't! I can't die here. Please, I'll do whatever you want. Anything you ask."

His smile returns, sinfully twisted. "Hm. Whatever I want, huh?"

************

Is it wrong that tiny a part of her wants this? If she's sincere with herself, she wouldn't mind if she could trust Sylvain to spare her life after he was done. Which she can't. Holst would be so disappointed. _Stop._ She becomes overwhelmed with nausea, nearly tumbling over even though she kneels at Sylvain's feet. The thought of her brother seeing her like this repulses her. So she pushes other friends and family out of her mind. Instead, she fixates her teary eyes up to Sylvain's smug expression. Elegant gloves paw at his armored crotch shyly.

"Eager, are we? Take your gloves off." Both getting comfortable, he removes his bulky armor while she obeys. Gauntlets come off first. Chest plate and leg guards. They make a muted thump as they hit the earth.

Gingerly, patiently, too patient for his liking, she unbuttons his pants. Her silky fingertips tickle him when she pulls down his underwear. And suddenly, he feels equal parts too vulnerable and aroused when she gulps, wide-eyed, pulling out his cock with her small hand that can barely wrap around it. A light blush paints her pretty face. Doe eyes look up at him, silently protesting that logistically, this would not work. _It won't fit._

Not receiving any pity or affirmation, her mouth plummets down on him, unable to swallow even half of the appendage. She backs off, sucks, licks, tries again, repeats. Admitting defeat, she reaches a hand up to rub the base of his dick, the elusive expanse she can't reach with her throat.

His eyes nearly roll back into their sockets when she hums. Using all of his willpower, he fights to focus on her next movement when he sees her other hand reach down in between her legs, her short dress barely hiding the show. He's about to curse the goddess for the censorship before he notices her technique is slightly off. Adrenaline rushes through him as he holds back the snicker of a giddy teenager, utterly aware of the game she's playing.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he yanks her to her feet and slams her wrists above her head. Looking up, she's clutching a small dagger in one of her hands.

"So, what was the plan, Hilda?" He asked, snatching it from her and rubbing the flat end of the dagger across her cheek.

"I thought it might be hot to cut your clothes off." She lied.

She's right. That is hot. Sylvain cuts the thin straps of her dress and choker, nicking her slightly in the process. She shrieks as he pulls down the padded bra of her dress. Her nipples hardening instantly to the crisp air. He releases her wrists to pinch one of them. Her whimpering like music to his ears.

He presses down on her shoulders, a silent command to kneel again. "Now, where were we? Oh, that's right." He presses the dagger against her nape. "Try any more of your tricks, and I'll gut you alive. Slowly. One organ at a time. Like that frog in Hanneman's class. Remember that, Hilda? I did the write up for you. Show me how thankful you are."

Hilda closes her eyes, swamped by too many emotions. Fear. Arousal. Shame at her arousal. Genuine gratitude for the time she spent with the boy who was always enamored with her. _If I had been with you back then, would you be different today?_ Guilt. 

Resting her hands on his muscular thighs, she slowly plants little kisses up his member. Every lick and breath traces up the bulging veins. Butterflies kisses tickle his head and increase in pressure as she travels up his length. She cautiously tests Sylvain, sinking back against the blade as if to ask permission to repeat her work. Graciously, the dagger loosens just enough for her to start over. She works her tongue and lips up and down his shaft until they're sore. She then takes a break to kiss his balls and looks up to him for approval. The picture of his dick resting on her smaller, pretty face etched itself in the back of Sylvain's mind. He'll have that memory forever.

She must like what she sees because she beams, groping his balls for a quick second before circling his tip with her tongue. Then finally, after what seems to be forever for Sylvain, her mouth opens to take as much of him as she can. Which isn't much. She bobs shallowly. Slowly. Soft hands now coming up to pump his length where her mouth doesn't reach, gripping just tightly enough, so they don't tremble with her bubbling emotions. The pressure is a perfect compliment to her otherwise fleeting touches. She bobs and sucks, becoming more enthusiastic. Taking him deeper and deeper down her throat every time. Too fast. Too slow. Her pace perfectly pushes Sylvain to the edge while holding him back from jumping off.

Her seamless performance rattles Sylvain, plunging him into the deepest depths of jealousy. How many men has she practiced with to get this good? Why did she refuse him for so many years? What did these men have that he didn't? 

Unanswered questions compounding his fury, he grabs her choker and pulls her off of him, eliciting a surprised gag from her. She doesn't get the chance to question the sudden mood change before his fist slams against the tree trunk behind her, taking her head with him and knocking her onto her tailbone. Eyes half-lidded and head throbbing, stars sparkle brightly in her vision. The dagger returns. This time in front of her jugular. Her legs now splayed; Sylvain is further irritated by the fact that she's wearing completely opaque black shorts underneath her dress.

"Hands behind your back. Mouth open. If you even think of touching me, you'll die."

"Yes, sir." She follows his instructions, neatly folding her hands behind her. 

A purr rumbles through him. Hilda probably meant to say Syl. Her childhood nickname for him. With one hand securing her scruff against the tree and dagger pressed against her flesh, Sylvain plunges himself into her mouth completely, only stopped by her nose bumping his pelvis. Her throat constricts around him in alarm. Her hands shoot into the air. But remembering his threat, they falter then fold behind her before she has the chance to push his hips back.

"Good girl." He praises, pulling out to fuck her throat at a punishing pace. "Take it like the good little slut you are."

She gags, eyes shut, attempting to block the flood of tears, but she doesn't dare pull away or turn her head. The assault continues. Sylvain shows no signs of slowing even though Hilda's garbled cries are crystal clear to him. He calls it a superpower of his, learned from his previous experiences. "_Sylvain! Please stop! I'm sorry! Ouch!_" That last one may have just been her screaming. He snickers internally. Good. She was a little too cognizant for his liking. It's time to fix that.

Her mind clears, unable to focus on anything but the offending appendage ripping her apart. Dirty words lost on her as her world starts to fade. Before it does, Sylvain pulls out, and she coughs violently, choking on a combination of her spit and his precum. Her senses slowly return to her. Too slowly.

She's unprepared when he grabs her legs, pulling her hips towards him. Her earlier obedience pays off when her hands, still folded behind her, save her head from bumping the tree roots during the rough motion. With an annoyed grunt, he cuts her shorts and panties, careful not to catch her skin this time. She's vaguely aware of her clothes ripping and the metal clang of the dagger being discarded. Only jolted awake when he rubs a finger from her tuft of baby pink hair through the petals of her opening, jerking when he passes over her node. He chuckles darkly again to see she's sopping wet. Not with blood, though. With creamy arousal.

"So you're on your period, huh?" 

"Umm, I thought I was?" She offered.

The lies intoxicate Sylvain. He's so ready to punish her. To fuck her into oblivion until she never walks right again. She will scream. Beg. Tremble at his feet. She's going to pay for ever thinking she could deny him the pleasure of breaking her. The desire and hatred courses through Sylvain as he holds down her thigh, head of his cock rubbing against her dripping slits. It burns him. She writhes. _Tease_. He wasn't done planning every horrible thing to do to her when she snaps him out of his rumination. 

"Didn't your mother teach you not to play with your food?"

He thrusts into her. Hard. Merciless. Something breaks. He feels her scorching walls tight around him. An unholy cry of pain rips out of her. 

There's no way.

"Hilda…" He growled dangerously. She was a virgin.

She reaches down to hold his hand on her thigh. Touching him like a lover would. A silent urge to continue. He doesn't. Instead, he awakens from his life long daze. Senses sharpen, suddenly alive. He simultaneously sees his past and present. Everything is too clear. Sharp. It hurts. He looks down. Hilda is sobbing uncontrollably. Tears splotching her cheeks magenta from her makeup and black from the mud, akin to the women he raped and the soldiers he killed. He hears every timbre of her weeping. Every lift and drop in pitch twists the strings of his heart. He feels her. Heart thundering in her small chest. Fingers cold as Felix's blade. Her sweet scent swathes him. He can distinctly pick out the notes of bergamot, vanilla, and... blood? He looks down. Her blood is seeping out of their connection. 

_You've never fucked a virgin before. What a first impression for both of you._ He pulls out, soft. 

She lets out a sigh of relief, contradictory to her words. "It's okay. I want you to continue."

He berates himself for shamelessly hardening again, cursing his innate tendencies. "Forgive me, Hilda. I can't." 

She whines as he moves away to pull his over-shirt off. Tenderly, he dots her flushed face with the makeshift rag. Soaking up the tears. She squeaks, content, as he continues to clean her face. The dynamic between them completely changed. Until Sylvain's fingers brush across her chin, and she catches them with her teeth. Startled, he stops, and she seizes the opportunity to kiss his digits. Her hands reach up to admire his broad chest, a mischievous light dancing in her eyes.

"Hilda." He warns, exasperated. "I'm not going to kill you."

"I'm okay, Sylvain. I want to finish what was started." She affectionately rubs her nose against his palm. "If you'll have me, of course."

He pauses, wavering between following his unruly lust and crippling guilt. 

"Hilda, are you sure?"

Hilda's bright eyes flutter when she squeaks her consent. He lifts her back and lays his shirt underneath her. She hums happily at the contact, his actions now as sweet as his words. His hand traces down her body until his fingers reach her nub. 

"Ah!" She lets out a squeak then covers her mouth, embarrassed by the sound. Sneaking a leg in between hers, his fingers continue to graze her nerves. Lazily teasing her. Hilda doesn't take much of it until she squirms. And finally, she bursts into a fit of… Giggles? Not exactly the reaction that Sylvain usually gets when he does this.

"What's wrong, princess?"

"Mmm, it tickles," She slurs. 

"Good tickle or bad tickle?"

"I can't tell."

Confused but thoroughly amused, he kisses her cheek and scooches down to her entrance. Pulling up her hood for better visibility, he kisses the bundle of nerves underneath and massages it with his tongue. She cries again. A different cry than she's let out today. A cry not of pain but of pleasure. And the latter is far more exhilarating. Encouraged, he picks up the pace and presses his middle finger into her entrance. She flinches, still sore. He moves slowly, gently curling his digit against her flesh and dragging it out. His efforts earning him a perfect view of her perky tits as her back arches. 

He reaches back inside of her several times, trying to memorize the spots that generate the loudest mewls. Playing with different combinations of pressure and friction. Her moaning intensifies. Louder and more desperate. Her legs clamp on him, but he easily keeps them open with his elbows. She struggles harder. Twisting her whole body. Her hips stay pinned in place under her tormentor.

"S-Sylvain!" He's heard that before. His name deliciously soaked with that familiar desperate tone. Uttered from the mouths of many other women. Yet never as exquisite from them as it is dripping off of her lips. He smirks against her, amplifying his ministrations until her mouth opens in a squeaky scream, a beautiful dissonant falsetto, ecstasy overwhelming her. Convulsing as wave after wave of utter bliss wracks her body, leaving her breathless and needy.

He continues sucking on her folds, messily slurping up her fluids. Even her cum tastes like musk and flowers with a slight tinge of blood. The fact that he caused it makes it taste better. Her squirming picks up when she feels he's not stopping. She cries, oversensitive until finally, Sylvain shows her mercy. Looking down, her body is twisted from all of the wriggling. She's grasping a protruded tree root to her right, her butt held flush against the grass, legs tangled around his arms.

"Sorry," he offers lamely. Hilda pants wearily, eyes dilated, hair a mess, and face pink. Although she looks wholly spent, she's weakly groping his large cock. 

"Already down for round 2?" He pets her belly. She mewls, still stroking him. Quickly scolding her, "Ah ah. Tell me what you want."

She refuses to speak. Instead, she swivels her body to lay on her side, using Sylvain's solid arms as leverage and grinds against him. 

He lets out a low groan to his chagrin. Yet, he refuses to give in. Not yet. "Behave, Hilda. Use your words." Thankfully, she relents, quiet voice demanding, "Fuck me, Sylvain."

Usually, that's not enough. Sylvain wants to hear his woman beg. But he'll make an exception this time, unable to hold back much longer. Straddling her bottom leg and wrapping her top leg over his, he draws enough self-control to slowly push in. They equally flinch and hiss at the tight fit. And it's like heaven. He slowly pulls out and pushes back in, determined to share the same sensations with her as she's gifted to him. She drowns in the spiral of pain and pleasure. Eventually, the sharp pain dulls into a feeling of longing. She whimpers, pushing herself closer into Sylvain's thrusts. 

Taking the cue, he speeds up. Hilda's moaning escalates. She's so tight, her sweet cunt chokes him with every thrust. Her flesh is so hot, it burns. Immediately, he feels the coil in his stomach and the tingling sensation in his limbs. _Fuck._ He stifles it down as much as he can. He refuses to cum before she does. Luckily he has as much experience untying girls as he does his shoes. He shifts the angle of his hips and reaches down, drawing small circles on her swollen clit. A shrill cry leaves her, legs clamping down on him.

"S-Sylvain!" There it is again. Good. He wasn't about to last much longer. 

"Let it go, sweetheart." His voice rasps, his control deteriorating. "Cum for me." 

On command, her walls clench erratically, milking him, sucking him in greedily. She pushes him over his edge, and he can't help but give her body what it wants. With a hard thrust, he explodes, collapsing to the grass behind her. He wraps his arm around her while they lay panting. 

Down from his high, he shivers, sucked into a spell of rumination. How different would things be if he just worked to be a better man? He stumbles over his words for the first time in his conscious memory. He wants to apologize. To beg for forgiveness. Promise her it will never happen again. Hold her in his arms forever. Offer his life for atonement. But nothing comes out. There's nothing in the world his silver tongue could offer that would erase the pain he's inflicted. Thankfully she speaks first. 

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Never. Are you going to kill me?"

She pauses. "Never."

He pulls her closer to him, unconvinced. She laughs weakly. "I wasn't lying, you know. I do love you." Her voice begins to break. "I was just scared of you."

Whatever was left of Sylvain's heart sank. The courage finally comes to him to say what he needs to say. "Hilda, I-I'm so sorry."

She rolls over to face him, nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck. "Don't be. Just know that I do love you."

"Right." He pauses, feelings he's never experienced before grips him, and he's suddenly overwhelmed with terror. 

"I've been trying to learn how to love my entire life and-" He inhales deeply. "And I haven't figured it out. All I've been able to do thus far is cause heartbreak. For those around me and myself." 

She lifts her head to him, amazement etched across her face as he continues. "I can't begin to apologize for all that I've done to you. But know that I would do anything for you to make up for it."

"Sincerity is beautiful on you." Hilda swoons, pecking him on the lips. "Let's learn together."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, if you're still here, thank you. This is my first fic. I would love to hear any feedback/constructive criticism you have :) Especially parts that were exciting, not exciting, confusing etc. If you have any tips to improve my vocabulary, writing etc. I just want to hear from you.


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